


where his tenderness resides

by popunkarts



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Love Language, Mourning, Touch-Starved Tommy Shelby, canon? idk her, john shelby mention, physical touch, tommy shelby - Freeform, tommys love language is physical touch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29071500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popunkarts/pseuds/popunkarts
Summary: tommy takes care to make reader feel his love
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Original Female Character(s), Tommy Shelby/Reader, Tommy Shelby/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	where his tenderness resides

He was always careful when he paid attention to you in front of others.

A polite hand on your lower back, guiding you away from unpleasant conversation or steering you into a needed one with potential donors or the wives of lucrative business partners, wanting small talk to take the place of touchy conversations and new business ventures you could strangle him for ruining your evening with. 

His attention was gentle and calloused at the same time, with his hands rubbing up and down your arm in a weak attempt at soothing as soon as you dragged him to a dark corridor for questioning.

“What happened to minimal business tonight?” You rose the glass in your gloved hand to sip your champagne, raising an eyebrow as he opened his mouth to speak, “You’ve snuck off twice and now I’m hearing from Polly there’s powerful people here?”

“Yes, there’s powerful people here for the charity-” His attempt to clarify made you click your tongue.

“There’s blinder business, Thomas.” You pursed your lips and he nodded once, unable to deny anything under your scrutinizing gaze. He focused his himself on something outside, trying to pull enough words together to excuse himself from your discussion. “Why is there blinder business here, Tommy? At our charity event for ailing orphans?” You straightened up, eyes unwavering as you tried to meet his. 

Tommy turned back to you and his icy blue eyes met yours. “They’re making sure you’re safe, is all.” He lifted a hand to cup your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin with a reserved gentleness despite the roughness of his skin. The tone was nothing other than truthful, steady as ever while he spoke. “I can’t have anything happen to you. Extra security for my peace of mind.”

“Or the dress.” You quipped, proving your point by turning your hips slightly to make the fabric swish. “I spent a long time picking this out as I wanted it to pair perfectly with the apology earrings you left me on the dresser.”

His eyes rolled up to the ceiling briefly at the mention of the new pearls, and you didn’t doubt he was pushing his tongue against his teeth as he gathered his words. “Alright. Not a mark on either of you. You or the fucking dress you picked out just for me, Y/N. ” 

“I didn’t pick out anything for you.” You pecked his lips briefly, smiling softly as he moved in for another, whispering between the two of you, “The dress is mine.”

“And what’s under the dress is mine, ay.” He had that tone to him, treading the line of authoritative only you got to hear behind closed doors, the kind that came with pushing his buttons. You felt a smile pass your lips before schooling your features, an imitation of the man who undoubtedly knew you best. You pushed a stray curl behind your ear as you looked him over.

“As long as you keep your minimal business to a minimum,” You tutted and straightened his bowtie, the careful knot your own doing while Tommy had made his initial promise in the sanctuary of your bedroom during the early evening hours. “what’s under the dress if yours.”

His hand was on your lower back again and you relaxed into the touch, a warm smile coming to your face as you examined his. The cold, determined Tommy melted away for a split second, the changes you had learned to savor coming forth easy to spot in the dark of the cold hall. The corner of his eyes pinched slightly, the corner of his lips turning upward for a brief moment. He tilted his chin down, pressing his lips to yours softly.

“Now,” You cleared your throat, gently pushing his hand off of your lower back in exchange for his arm. “Back to minimal business, Tommy.”

There were mornings when his lips never left your skin for more than a few moments, the both of you needing tangible assurance of someone’s love. Yours usually came in the middle of the night when you would tuck yourself against his twitching body, his limbs settling as he felt the pressure of you against his side, the smell of your soap and hair oils pushing through the clay and muck of the reimagined tunnels. Where the mumbling and quiet gasping would ease as you rubbed his chest and whispered to him that he was home, that he was safe, that he was with you in your bed. 

His came in the mornings, seeing through the teasing to assure you that although he was off to a dealing business meeting or political business in London or factory business in the shit and smog of Small Heath in a moment, he would not stray for too long. His mornings were always early, always that sweet spot in time when you were too drowsy to put up a believable act in front of Tommy and would grumble an answer to any question he had without thinking twice as long as he stopped talking soon enough.

“Is there anything else, Mister Shelby?” The voice recognized as Frances’ was distant, the old woman’s voice more delicate than usual.

“That’ll be it, Frances, thank you.” His low voice came next and made you stir slightly, taking a deep breath and turning over to bury your face in his warmth that lingered on the blankets, begging for sleep to whisk you away again.

The door shut and a moment later the mattress dipped behind you, the smell of burning tobacco and aftershave enveloped your nearly sleeping form. Soft lips pressed against the back of your neck and you tried to remain still, breathing evenly as his lips trailed across your shoulder.

“You’re awake.” The words rumbled against your skin, soft lips moving against your neck as he kissed where he had marked in the earliest morning hours. 

“Mm-mm.” You hummed, pressing your face into the pillow. “Not yet.”

“Frances has brought you breakfast.”

“You made that woman get up before the sun rose?” You mumbled into the pillow, furrowing your eyebrows despite your act. 

“That is what I pay her for.” Tommy reminded. “The sun is up, dearest. Open your eyes, see it for yourself.” 

“Come back to bed, Thomas.” You verged on a whine, reaching a hand back to try and run your fingers through his hair. Your nose wrinkled at the lack of contact on your part as he slipped away. “It’s Sunday. Let Linda and Arthur go to church then handle the business. Just take a day, we can even take Charlie out for a picnic.”

Skillfully and typically he ignored your request for his leisure time. “I’m Thomas now?” His fingers trailed down the curve of your back and you all but arched into his touch like a spoiled cat.

“You were Thomas last night.” You reminded as you rolled over to face him and stretched out on the mattress. His fingers trailed up and down your side lightly and you flinched away from the ticklish touch, grabbing his wrist in your hand. “Watch it, Thomas.”

The corners of his lips twitched upward and something resembling mischief sparked in his eye and you narrowed your own at him, challenging, “Do you think they’d miss you?”

“I think you would.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss between your eyebrows. “How would you explain yourself then, ay?”

“Thomas Shelby was taken care of,” He snorted at your wording as he crossed the room but you persisted anyway. “Thomas Shelby was handled after pushing his lover to the limit so early in the morning after waking her up so rudely.”

He moved to where he had Frances place the tray of food and lifted it, nodding for you to shift yourself among the sheets. You propped yourself up, holding a hand out to stop him as he reached your bedside. Tommy quirked an eyebrow.

“Only if you’re planning on staying.” You raised your eyebrows to mirror him. “If not, I’ll eat at the window. On my own.”

Tommy looked at you momentarily, the smoke from his cigarette swirling upward and around him as he examined you for any sign of relenting. He sighed and nodded, placing the tray over your legs and trying not to show any amusement at your triumphant smile as he came to the empty side of the bed. 

“Your meetings can wait for a bit, Tommy-don’t get into bed with the suit.” You cautioned. “It’ll wrinkle.”

He sighed, patience steady as he listened to you. “Am I expected to feed you the toast as well?” He unbuckled his belt and slipped his gray suit pants off, folding them and placing them on the end of the bed. “Is that what you need me here for?” He slid out of his waist coat, placing it atop his matching pants. His fingers made quick work of the tiny white buttons on his shirt, lying it over his other clothes.

“Well, if you’re offering, how could I say no.” You laughed lightly, bringing your legs up under you as he laid out next to you, leaning back against the headboard. You took a bite of buttered toast, holding the slice to Tommy’s lips as you chewed. His unamused look made you giggle and you pulled the cigarette from between his lips and moved the toast slightly closer still, prompting him to take a small bite.

“Good boy.” You patted his face lightly and ignored the scoff, leaning in to kiss him around the crumbs. “Can I expect you back before midnight?”

He nodded once, pulling another drag from the cigarette and blowing it upwards toward your painted ceiling. “I’ll try for a reasonable hour.” He muttered to himself, lifting his fingers to try to tuck away the fabric where your scarf had slipped from its knot during the night. “No idea how you keep this fucking thing on all the time.”

“Enough magic to give me a headache.” You batted at his fingers, unraveling the knot and letting your curls loose. You massaged your scalp, shaking out the tightened coils. “I’m sure I’m a real vision right now. Looking like I’ve been shocked by a wool touch or something.”

Tommy puffed smoke out through his nose, a hand reaching up to tug at the curls on the nape of your neck. Your shoulders relaxed at his touch “Not a bad sight so early in the morning.”

“If you’re softening me up with the affection and compliments so you can leave, it’s not going to work.” 

His hand fell to the spot where your shoulder met your neck and he pulled you down slightly, pressing a kiss to your temple, mumbling something along the lines of you being insatiable and a menace, but his nonetheless.

It was rare he let you hold him first.

He was mourning.

Different than Arthur, who was weeping aloud and different than Polly who rolled the rosary beads between her fingers more often those days. It was a different mourning, when his persistent mind stopped for a moment and his thoughts droned into white noise and the realization that John was gone-permanently gone, at the fault of his own greed and impulse washed over him the way the panic in the tunnels would. You found him hunched over on his bed in their Watery Lane home, shaking breaths making the hunch of his back rise and fall unsteadily. In the candlelight beside him you could make out his hands-your favorite hands- hands trembling as they gripped at his hair.

“Tommy,” You spoke up carefully, staring at him from the doorway. You reached behind you, closing the door in an attempt to shield him from a passerby’s view. “Tommy, you’ll hurt yourself.” You took slow and measured steps toward him, fearful of creaky floorboards that would alert the other nearby Shelbys, or knocking anything to the ground that would set him off. His trembling form made a knot in your throat tighten and you reached out your hand, startling when Tommy sprung up. Automatically, his hand reached under his pillow and his wet eyes found yours, his normally calm eyes flashing with something wild before he reconnected himself to the present moment.

“It’s just me, Tommy.” Your hand that had flown up to stop him arming himself dropped, cupping his stubbly chin. Your thumb caressed his jaw, trying to push away the tension for a moment. “Couldn’t find you after dinner, I got scared.”

He nodded, pulling away from your touch. He cleared his throat. “So many places to check in the house.”

“I thought you’d be out smoking or at the Garrison.” Your fingers sought out his hair where he had been pulling at it, rubbing your fingertips in soothing circles on his scalp. “Taking your mind off of things.”

“I can’t be drunk if we’re being hunted, Y/N.” His tone was dismissive and reached for his cigarettes and lighter on the bedside table.

“Everyone in the house is armed.” Your hands reached out to touch him again, blocked as he rolled his cigarette between his slightly swollen and raw lips. You assumed he had been biting them, one of his tells that things had bubbled up while he was alone. “We’ve all got guns under our pillows and in our pockets. Even Linda’s got one on her.”

“Fear convinces people better than simple words can.” He rested his elbow on his knee, hunching over. He smoked for a moment, long drags and lingering clouds of smoke swirled around the two of you. You stepped in front of him and reached down to take the cigarette, watching him closely as his fingers went limp. You placed it between your own lips, both hands coming up to cup the back of his head. You listened to his breathing, waiting until the stuttering breaths became fewer and farther between.

“He was your brother.” You traced your finger upward over the shell of his ear, lightly tracing the outline of his forehead. “He was a Shelby.”

“Yeah.” Tommy spoke into your nightdress, his eyes shutting as your finger came to brush against his lashes. “Yeah, I know he was.”

“So you know you can mourn him.”

The next breath was shaky and Tommy’s hands began to tremble again. You took your final drag and snubbed out the cigarette, letting it smoulder in his aged ashtray. 

He pressed his face into your stomach, hands pressing into your lower back as he sought refuge in your being. You tilted your head to the side, taking in his closed eyes and clenched jaw before he turned his head away from the flickering candle light.

“Mourn him, Thomas.” You whispered downwards at his hair, a hand coming up to rub his cheek. Your fingers met wetness just under his eyes and you ignored it, stroking his cheek with your thumb as Tommy held onto you for dear life. “It’s alright.”

His hand began to move against the material of your nightclothes, palms pressing more firmly than before. You settled yourself across his lap, one knee on either side of him on the edge of the bed. You gripped at his shirt, still smelling of the day’s whiskey he had taken and cigarettes he had found a way to take more of recently. His face tucked into your neck and you wrapped your arms around him tightly, letting his forearms squeeze you close around your lower back. He took breath after shaking breath against you, his fingers holding the fabric of your clothes in an iron grip. 

You held him, pressing your face into his hair as he held you as close as possible, hiding above the blankets in the flickering candle light.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on tumblr pollyrepents.tumblr.com mwah


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